Chapter 20: The Worth of Morality

Harvey couldn't even bear to watch.

He'd seen this play out before. The previous few magicians had nearly flipped the table at this exact line.

Detect Evil was a spell unique to holy professions. It let its caster sniff out the wicked hiding among ordinary folk—cultists, criminals, that sort of thing.

The problem was, Detect Evil only detected evil. It didn't tell you what kind of evil. Even a stray malicious thought could trigger it.

And really, who could swear they'd never had an evil thought?

A list of the "Ten Most Annoying Things that Paladins Do" would undoubtedly include randomly casting Detect Evil.

Saying "Mind if I cast Detect Evil on you?" might sound polite, but it was really just strapping someone onto a moral guillotine.

Say yes, and you might show up as "evil" for the most trivial of reasons. Say no, and everyone assumes you're hiding something.

Their other magician candidates had blown up over it. One had even come close to starting a bar fight. If Harvey hadn't stepped in to stop them, someone might've died right there.

He thought that after a few such disasters, the paladin would've learned to restrain himself. Apparently not.

Ambrose didn't speak at first. He also found the request absurd.

No wonder everyone disliked these tin-can zealots—especially the ones from the Lyon Empire, who were practically religious fanatics with nicer armor.

Harvey worried Ambrose might lose his temper on the spot. But to his surprise, Ambrose stayed calm. Almost too calm.

The moment he'd seen the paladin walk in, Ambrose had already guessed this was coming. No matter how flawless his disguise magic was, paladins had an innate sense for undeath. Even if they couldn't see through it, they'd feel that something was off.

So when the paladin made his request, Ambrose merely replied, "As a paladin, you must know how offensive that kind of request is."

The paladin replied smoothly, "Detect Evil harms no one. It merely senses wicked thoughts. If you have none, you'll be untouched, and your integrity proven."

Ambrose shot back, "Most people don't need to prove their integrity. Their lives don't hinge on being virtuous. But for you noble knights, ‘integrity' is just an accessory, a price tag for your faith and honor. To everyone else, those ideals are a burden. Can you admit that?"

The paladin nodded slightly. "For the faithless and the heretic, virtue means little. You've said plenty. I take it you refuse?"

He didn't seem surprised. Refusal was the usual reaction. Hardly anyone ever agreed to a moral inquisition.

But Ambrose demurred. "Not exactly. I'm just making a reasonable proposal. Since this test is purely for your religious satisfaction, shouldn't I be compensated for shouldering the associated risks?"

The paladin froze. Harvey's jaw dropped.

He had never seen anyone charge money for being the recipient of a Detect Evil. How was this magician making it sound so reasonable?

The paladin's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched slightly. He was clearly hesitating. Something about this felt wrong, yet he couldn't find a flaw in the logic.

Ambrose added lightly, "What's wrong? Not willing to pay? Seems your faith isn't worth much, then."

That did it. The war priest beside him reached for his hammer, ready to smite the magician first rather than argue.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" Ambrose continued smoothly. "Faith requires sacrifice, doesn't it? You paladins know that better than anyone. Yet here you are, just pushing the burden onto others. If your Lord of Dawn saw this, I wonder upon whose head His holy fire would fall?"

The tavern erupted in cheers.

"Ha! Well said!"

"Yeah! Sacrificing yourself might be an act of faith, but sacrificing others is just cult-like behavior!"

"I've always hated those self-righteous tin cans!"

"Lapdogs of the Lyon Empire!"

......

A good number of the patrons of the bar weren't human, and Ambrose's words hit home. A few even shouted that they'd buy him a drink.

Amid the uproar, the paladin restrained the furious war priest and said evenly, "How much do you want?"

Ambrose smiled. "That depends on how much your faith is worth."

"This rhetoric is meaningless," the paladin said. "My faith cannot be measured in gold. But you are right: moral judgment does carry a cost. So tell me, how much is your morality worth?"

Harvey nearly applauded. Now that was a counterstrike worthy of the Empire's so-called paladins.

He'd flipped the question back. If Ambrose named any price, it implied his morality could be bought, branding him as amoral.

Paladins, after all, weren't idiots. They had to undergo rigorous martial training, but they also studied history, literature, and philosophy. They were zealots, yes, but educated zealots.

Ambrose raised a brow, mildly impressed. He'd underestimated this particular paladin.

"How much is morality worth?" he mused, then smiled.

"You're asking me to put a price on my morality. I could just name a number so high you couldn't possibly afford it, but that would be childish. I'm no paragon of divine virtue, and tossing out a fake figure would only make both of us look bad."

He spread his hands. "So rest easy: my price will be perfectly fair."

The paladin said, intrigued, "I've never heard of a standard for pricing morality before. Master Megaman, I confess I'm curious about yours."

Ambrose replied confidently, "According to Alkhemia law, if either party in a transaction deceives the other, the violator must pay tenfold the damage. That's the standard here. Your commission listed a payment of five hundred gold coins for this venture.

"Since it's a contract made within Alkhemia, we'll follow its rules. If you wish to test my morality, then pay five thousand gold. If you do so, I'll accept your Detect Evil. Sound fair?"

Five thousand gold was a small fortune to most, but to a paladin of the Lyon Empire, an actual landed noble, it was at most a painful inconvenience.

And worse, Ambrose's logic made sense. The tavern was already half cheering, half mocking the holy duo. If this dragged on, even the Lord of Dawn's reputation might start taking hits.

And that, no paladin could allow.

"Fine," the paladin said. "Five thousand gold. I accept."

He drew a small pouch and poured out a clinking cascade of coins.

A magical storage bag was worth over ten thousand gold by itself. Truly, money was no object for this lot.

Ambrose calmly counted the coins, completely at ease. Harvey, meanwhile, stared at him, torn between admiration and disbelief. Was this magician truly so confident his soul would pass the test? Or was he just that good at bluffing?